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"That you know of. I admired Sam a lot. He was my mentor, and I thought he was spectacularly good at his job. But I realized after he left that I never knew him. You figured out the same thing. Can either of us really say that he couldn't kill someone?"
"Why would he?" he countered.
"I don't know. But then, I don't know why he did half the things he did. I need to get back to the showroom. It's a busy day."
"Fine, but next time I call, answer the phone or call me back. Otherwise, I might start thinking you still have something to hide."
"That sounds like a threat, Flynn."
"It's a fact," he said harshly.
"I'm not your enemy, Flynn. I'm sorry you seem to think I am."
She led the way out of the office, and he followed, deliberately keeping his gaze focused on her back. She joined a group of customers in the showroom, and he headed outside. Stephen was nowhere in sight, but Callie was leaning against a parking meter, sipping wine from a plastic glass.
"How did it go?" she asked. "You were gone awhile."
"I'll tell you in the car. Let's get out of here." He urged her toward the SUV, eager to put his father's gallery behind him.
Callie followed, dumping her wineglass into a recycle bin. Then she hopped into her seat as he started the engine.
"Before we go," she said, "I think you might be interested in this." She handed him her phone. "Stephen was talking to his sales associate on the sidewalk. Then he got a call and he seemed agitated. He walked down the street, and I followed him. He moved to that car and had a conversation with a person who I think you might recognize."
He stared down at the photo. "That's Gerard Bissette."
"I couldn't get close enough to hear what they were saying, but Stephen seemed upset. I took some pictures, thinking they might be helpful."
"Did they see you?" he asked sharply.
"No. I may not be an agent, but I can stay out of sight when I need to. It probably doesn't even relate to the case, but I figured it wouldn't hurt for you to see this."
He was both impressed and annoyed. "I told you to wander around and have some wine."
"I did have wine. And I did wander around. I also saw what I saw."
"I just hope they didn't see you. This is a dangerous situation, Callie."
She met his gaze. "Flynn, I know that. I know that better than anyone. And they didn't see me. So, get over it. And, by the way, you're welcome."
He handed her back her phone. "Thank you."
"A little late, but okay. Now what happened with Gretchen? Did she tell you anything?"
"She claimed Arthur was interested in a local artist—Imogene Rocca. Like Marcus Vitelli, apparently Arthur was encouraging Imogene to finish a painting that he wanted to buy. Gretchen claims that Arthur fancied himself as someone who could discover new talent."
"He did think a lot about himself," she said dryly.
"She also said she thought she saw my father outside the gallery last week. Seemed to think Arthur's death and my father's reappearance were connected."
"Do you believe her?"
"I honestly don't know. But my father has no ties to Arthur. They never met before he took off and fled the country."
She stared back at him. "But they both knew you. And if your father stole art, and Arthur was buying stolen art, then there are ties all over the place."
He frowned. "You're right. I just wish you weren't."
She gave him a compassionate smile. "I know how you feel. I wish for a lot of things I can never have. But whatever the truth is, you'll deal with it. You'll get through the storm."